


January 6th

by DasGrossartigeIch



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff, Jeanne is only a minor appearance, M/M, Making Love, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, maybe kind of a plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 19:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3423404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasGrossartigeIch/pseuds/DasGrossartigeIch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is January 6th, and as always on this day,  Francis is a wreck.  When Arthur comes to check on him after a nightmare, expecting to be turned away, quite the opposite happens.  (Jeanne isn't really a major part of this)</p>
            </blockquote>





	January 6th

Francis sat in his room, his head in his hands.  It was January 6th, the birthday of Jeanne d’Arc, and thoughts of her had clouded his mind all day.  He’d woken up that morning from a nightmare in which his blond haired beauty stood in front of him, demanding to know why he had been holding the man that had killed her.  Francis had tried in vain to tell her that Arthur was a good man, that he had to obey his boss, that he’d had no choice, but she turned and walked away, rose petals falling from her disintegrating  form.  He’d held them and wept.  

Arthur knew better than to visit his lover on today of all days, but he had to see him.  He’d dreamed of finding Francis dead, and it had rattled him to the point that, even though it had only been a dream, he simply had to check in on him.  He was always consumed with guilt on this day, that it was him that caused his French lover so much pain.  He sighed softly and picked up the smooth, hollow rock and took the key from it.  He unlocked the door and let himself in.  

The house, as always, looked immaculate.  The fireplace was framed in smooth, almost reflective cream coloured tiles, offset by the occasional light blue.  The furniture was a chocolate brown, apart from two blue chairs and some throw pillows of the same colour.  The floor was bamboo, and the wall was lined with windows, all with cream coloured curtains and wooden blinds.  Arthur began looking for him in the kitchen, but Francis was no where to be seen. Arthur checked the knife holder, counting all twelve knives in their place.  He continued through the house, then up the stairs to check for Francis in his bedroom.  He knocked tentatively and, upon hearing a muffled sob, turned the knob.  

“Francis?”

Francis lay in his bed, the red comforter wrapped around his trembling frame, exposing the pearl coloured sheets.  His head snapped up at the sound of his lover, and the look of pure agony in his eyes hurt Arthur’s heart.  He looked back down at his hands and mumbled in French.  

“I'm sorry?  I didn’t catch that.”

“I said… why would you come here today?”

The pain Arthur felt at those words made his dream seem like a walk in the park.  He looked down and said softly, “I wanted to make sure you were alive I… I had a nightmare.  I suppose I should go now. I apologize for showing my face here.”

Francis winced, but when Arthur turned to leave, he called out to him, “Wait!”

Arthur turned around. “Yes?”

“I… will you stay with me today? S'il vous plaît?”

Arthur’s eyes softened and he nodded, moving to sit on the bed beside the Frenchman, but Francis was having none of that.  He pulled Arthur against his chest and hid his face in the brit’s messy blond hair.  Arthur snaked his arms around Francis’s torso and they sat that way together, Arthur whispering soothing words to his lover every time the Frenchman began to cry again.  Soon day turned to evening and evening to night. Arthur ordered in some food after insistence from Francis that he not cook.

“Would you like me to stay the night?”

Francis was caught off guard by the question but nonetheless nodded.  “Oui, that would be nice….”

Arthur nodded and opened the closet, selecting a plain green oversized shirt that Francis kept there for him to sleep in.  Arthur, being unusually affectionate today for Francis’s sake, changed in the bedroom instead of insisting on going to change in the restroom like he normally would.  Francis smiled a little and made to slide out of his shirt, leaving the pyjama pants on. He scooted over from the middle of the bed to the far side and stretched the covers over the whole bed.  

 Arthur crawled into the bed with him and curled up against him, Francis’s arms wrapping around him and holding him tight.  He pressed a kiss to the brit’s head and closed his eyes.

 “Merci, Arthur, for staying with me….”

 Arthur smiled, knowing the Frenchman couldn’t see it, and nodded, letting his eyes slip closed.  He knew that Francis would be back to normal when they awoke, but he made a decision to continue to shower the Frenchman with affection, if only for the next day.  He deserved it, and Arthur knew it.  He knew that Francis had asked him to stay for his sake as well as his own.  If Francis had sent Arthur on his way, Arthur knew that he’d have drunk himself to sleep and let the day pass by.  

 “Je t’aime, Arthur,” Francis whispered, and Arthur could tell he was already close to sleep.  

 “I l… je t’aime aussi, Francis.”

 Arthur felt Francis smile.

 

* * *

 

 Arthur woke up to kisses being pressed against his forehead and cheeks, but instead of shoving his lover away, he turned his head so that their lips met.

“Good morning, Arthur.”

Arthur opened his eyes, emerald green instantly meeting ocean blue.  A groggy smile graced the brit’s lips.

“Good morning, Francis.”

Francis’s face visibly lit up.  Arthur hid another smile and rested his head against the Frenchman’s shoulder.  The two laid silent for a few minutes, Francis petting Arthur’s hair.

Francis pressed a kiss to Arthur’s forehead.

“I could make us some crêpes,” he offered.

Arthur shook his head and mustered the courage to meet Francis’s eyes.

“Francis… thank you…. For letting me stay,” he mumbled, but Francis heard him clearly.  

“Oh, Arthur…. My little black sheep,” Francis whispered and kissed him softly.  Arthur snaked his arms around the frenchman’s neck and hooked one leg over his waist.  The older blond ran his hand up Arthur’s thigh, ghosting only slightly under his shirt.  Arthur hooked his thumbs in the waistband of Francis’s pants and pushed them lower on his hips. Francis helped the brit out of his shirt, their lips meeting once more immediately after.  Francis pushed the Brit's briefs down, and Arthur kicked them off haphazardly, letting them get lost in the tangle of sheets and blankets.  The smaller blond pulled his lips from the older's and pushed him onto his back.  He scooted lower and tugged Francis's pyjama pants completely off, the Frenchman totally bare under them.  

Francis looked down at him through half lidded cerulean blue eyes.  Arthur, further encouraged by the obvious lust in the other's eyes, pumped Francis's half hard cock until he was fully hard and gave a tentative lick at the head.  At Francis's moan, Arthur smiled to himself and ran his tongue from the base to the tip, then swirled his tongue around it.  Francis groaned; it was taking all of his self control to not thrust up into Arthur's oh-so-perfect mouth.  The brit moaned softly, his own member aching to be touched. Francis ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair, and the brit bobbed his head, taking more of Francis’s member into his mouth with each time.  He pulled back and ran his tongue up the underside of the other’s cock and then moved to lap at the precum at the tip.

Feeling himself grow close, Francis gently pushed Arthur off of him and back onto the large bed.  He looked down at him, a small smile gracing his lips before he pressed them to the others.  He reached under his pillow and pulled a bottle of lube and a condom out from under it.

Arthur, upon seeing the condom, shook his head, a blush gracing his cheeks as he whispered “I want to feel you, not plastic.”

Francis himself blushed slightly and kissed the brit slowly, passionately.  Arthur wrapped his arms around the blond’s neck and kissed back with just as much fervor.  Upon feeling the frenchman’s tongue against his lips, he gladly parted them. Francis was quick to dominate the kiss as he popped open the lid of the bottle of lube and coated his fingers.  

He let it warm a bit before he whispered against Arthur’s lips, “Spread your legs, mon amour”

Arthur complied, blushing as he exposed himself to his lover.  The older circled his finger around the other’s entrance a few times before slowly sliding one digit in.  Arthur immediately relaxed his muscles, Francis rubbing his inner thigh with his free hand to help. He thrust his finger into him slowly until the other whispered a needy “More.”

Francis kissed the head of the other’s need, then slid in another finger, scissoring them gently.  Arthur bit his lip at the slight stretch.  It didn’t hurt, it was simply uncomfortable.  Francis continued on slowly as he had before.

 "I’m not going to break, y-you know,”  Arthur mumbled between little gasps.  

 Francis smiled fondly. “Non, but I don’t want to have sex today, Arthur, I want to make love to you…. Slowly and gently.”

Arthur’s cheeks heated and he shut up as Francis added another finger, moving them all apart easily.  He thrusted his fingers into Arthur, only having to slightly adjust the angle before Arthur let out a long, low moan.

“Ah, yes, Francis, th-there!”

Francis smiled, thrusting the digits up into that same spot, adding another finger just to be safe, then pulled them all out.  Arthur would forever deny it, but he whined at the loss.

Francis kissed back up Arthur’s chest to his lips and kissed them.  

 "Je t’aime, Arthur,” he whispered into his ear.  

 Arthur, fluent in French*, whispered back, “je t’aime aussi, Francis.”

Francis coated his member in more lube and then, holding Arthur to him with one arm, pressed into him slowly.  

Arthur clenched his teeth a little, and Francis peppered his cheeks in little kisses.

“Shhh, Arthur…. Relax, mon petit lapin.”

Arthur nodded and focused on Francis’s hot breath against his neck, relaxing his muscles as best he could.  After a few moments, he turned to press his lips against Francis’s, whispering softly, “move.”

Francis began to thrust slowly, breaking the kiss.  His cerulean eyes met emerald green, his breath catching.

Arthur’s eyelids fluttered, and upon a hard thrust to his prostate, he let out a cry of the Frenchman’s name.  Francis groaned softly in return and sped his thrusts, aiming directly for that spot and hitting it with pinpoint accuracy.  

“Arthur, mon petit chaton,” he whispered, “je t’aime.”

Arthur’s blush deepened a little.  “Je t’aime aussi, Francis,” he whispered in the other’s native tongue.  

Francis let out a moan and whispered in his ear, “vous êtes merveilleux, Angleterre, très beau.”

Arthur’s breathing became more erratic, and he groaned into Francis’s ear, “Francis, s'il vous plaît, baise-moi.”

Francis reached his hand between their flushed bodies, wrapping his fingers around Arthur’s weeping erection and pumping it in time with his thrusts.  Arthur bucked his hips into the other’s touch, and Francis nipped at his collar bone.  

“tu es tout pour moi,” he whispered.

Arthur kissed Francis’s neck. “You’re so beautiful, Francis,” he murmured.  Francis looked down at Arthur and their lips met in a heated kiss.  

Francis rubbed Arthur’s thigh as his thrusts became less and less rhythmic.  Arthur hugged Francis’s hips with his legs and arched his back.

“Francis, I’m close,” he moaned.  

Francis ran his thumb over the head of Arthur’s cock.  

“Donc je suis,” he moaned.  “Cum for me, mon petit chaton.”  

Arthur clenched around Francis’s member, leaning his head back and releasing with a loud cry of the other’s name.  

Francis followed soon after, whispering Arthur’s name in between kisses to his exposed neck.  

Francis wrapped his arm around the younger nation and slowly pulled out of him before rolling over so that the brit was on top of him.  He kissed Arthur’s forehead and the brit looked up at him, resting his chin on the other’s chest.

“Arthur, je t’aime,” he murmured. “I know why you came here yesterday.”

“Je t’aime aussi,” Arthur replied, then looked at him with a confused frown. “You do?”

“Oui, but Angleterre…. N'ai pas peur, je t'aime depuis un millier d'années, Je t'aimerai un millier d'années encore.”

Arthur thought it was quite cheesy to quote a song, but he blushed nonetheless.  

“Toujours.”

In that moment, Arthur knew that Francis had long forgiven him for all those years ago, and he smiled a small, fond smile.

“Toujours,” he confirmed.

**Author's Note:**

> *French was the language of the upper class in England at one time, Arthur would have had to know it.
> 
> S'il vous plaît - please
> 
> oui - yes
> 
> merci - thank you
> 
> mon amour - my love
> 
> non - no
> 
> je t'aime - I love you 
> 
> je t'aime aussi - I love you too
> 
> mon petit lapin - my little rabbit
> 
> mon petit chaton - my little kitten
> 
> vous êtes merveilleux, Angleterre, très beau - You are wonderful, England, very beautiful
> 
> baise-moi - fuck me
> 
> tu es tout pour moi - you are everything to me 
> 
> Donc je suis - so am I 
> 
> N'ai pas peur, je t'aime depuis un millier d'années, Je t'aimerai un millier d'années encore - Don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years, I'll love your for a thousand more 
> 
> Toujours - forever


End file.
